She sat by his grave.
by Renebre
Summary: A story about bitterness and love. Character death. G/D, H/D, H/Hr
1. Default Chapter

AN: Read. Review. "_And if perchance you should wish to cry, let your tears be your joy." - George Reme. _

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She sat by his grave, a broken woman, the graceful, weeping slope of her back making other mourners turn away silently making them remember their own separate grief. No tears fell from her hidden eyes, the grief went too deep for that, so deep that it would never be gone again.

The grave was covered with expensive, haughty flowers that looked as if they didn't belong in a graveyard, but in an undusted parlor somewhere. The grass was only just beginning to lift out of the ground, a signal of the oncoming spring. The woman simply looked at the grave, not lifting her eyes as the soft rays of the sun whispered down on her back. She reached out a steady hand to touch the still-cool stone of the grave marker. Her eyes did not touch the words on the marker, only the date, a date so close to the birthdate that it was reason for mourning in itself. 

She spoke, then, in a low voice, so low that passerbys would only hear the quiet murmuring flow so similar to those of thousands of other mourners. She spoke of many things, of things he had missed, of things he had experienced. She spoke not for him, but for herself.

Not many people had come to the funeral, but the relatives had, oh yes, the many respectable relatives with their stern, disapproving faces and the obligatory flowers, the short, clearly spoken speeches. They'd looked at her in disapproval as well, the woman in black with the empty eyes and the empty hands. A young man's life, summed up in disapproval.

He had died not in disgrace, and not in honor, but in a simple accident. Oh, yes, so simple. Not many mourned him, for not many liked him. Except for her. She had always been his companion. She had not approved of him, either, but she had always liked him.

She had learned to love him, as well, as time went by and little things showed her the nature beneath the bastard covering. A character to admire, a character that had went the wrong way because it wanted to. A character with stubbornness and warped nobility, a character with clumsy love and cemented pretense.

She felt the presence of a young couple beside her, and she looked up, slowly, fiercely resenting their hypocrisy in coming to a grave they wouldn't mourn. They stood together, as they always had, the way she had always been jealous of. The way that had made her run to the young man who now lay beneath six feet of living earth, his eyes closed and his heart still. The slender hands that had comforted and caressed her, the tenderly loving eyes that had shut off under another's scrutiny to form sheets of ice. 

The young man above her spoke, his voice low and concerned. "How long have you been here?"

She didn't need to answer. The answer meant nothing, not to him. She was beholden to no one except those she loved, and he had killed off her love for him ruthlessly years ago, with sweet smiles and sour betrayal. Betrayal with the one who stood beside him now, her face downcast as she searched the grave marker, as if looking for answers she wouldn't find. 

"Ginny -"

Oh, how easily he said her name. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to laugh loudly, but she was too tired, far too tired for dealings with her personal devil. But she mustered up energy from somewhere, energy to smile and say," Harry."

He looked down at her, those concerned green eyes. She had loved those green eyes, once. 

Once.

The woman beside him stirred, as if uncomfortable. "I loved him too." She told the woman sitting by the grave, a thin hand smoothing the granite of the headstone. 

She looked up again, but she had no smiles for this woman, this woman who had stolen her first love away from her, this woman who now claimed love for her true love. Her eyes were hard, her lips tight, and her hand curled fiercely around the headstone. "He didn't love you." She told her, truthfully, out of a basic need to hurt this woman who stood before her with the handsome black haired man. She would not have told her this while he was alive, but now she did. Now that he was dead. 

The standing woman flinched, her hand went to her mouth. Good. The man beside her made no move to comfort her, and the concern in his eyes intensified. Good. Let them both feel pain, like she had when they had betrayed her with one another. Like she had when - her hand flexed convulsively around the headstone.

"He didn't love you." She repeated. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, for she knew that the blow she was about to deliver would hurt most of all. She was glad it was the truth, and she was glad that she could deliver it. "He didn't feel anything about you. He hated you at first." She paused, loving the pain that crossed her face, sweeping out any other emotion. "But then he felt nothing. You were nothing to him. He never thought about you." Poison spilled from her lips as easily as tears had spilled from her eyes, a long time ago. But there was truth in poison, sometimes.

She pressed her forehead to the coolness of the headstone, but she did not weep again. Her tears had been shed, and she would not weep in front of them.

He knelt by her, reaching out a hand to touch her, and she did not flinch from his touch. For the sake of the love she had once given him, she would allow him to comfort himself by saying he had done everything possible. His voice was hoarse and raw. "Ginny, you don't mean - you're not yourself."

That made her smile again. "Every bit of it is the truth." She said. She smiled venomously, eyes feverish and hot, up at the woman who still stood with hand pressed to mouth and tears brimming at her eyes. "He loved me, you know." 

And then the dam of poison broke and she was left with a sort of empty wonder. "He loved me." She repeated. She could afford to be gentle again. She stood and brushed her hand against the headstone, the headstone, _his _headstone. She did not turn to look at the couple who stared at her, so worried. So worried, but their worry came too late. She might have embraced that worry, once, before they had betrayed her. 

"Where are you going?" he asked, reaching out to touch her. She stepped away, stared out at the sky, the huge empty expanse, and felt the emptiness take her. She didn't mind. Emptiness was easier to bear -

She looked at the sky, and walked away, her head bowed and hands loosely held.

Where was she going?

She was going to him.

There was nowhere else to go.

Not for her.


	2. Prequel

Prequel ****

AN : I was planning to leave _She sat by his grave _a standalone because it was properly angsty, but hey . . .

This story is for **Kei** because she is such a great reviewer, and to explain anything that she didn't understand. 

Thanks as always go to **Static, **my marvelous beta (

****

Prequel.

Ginny sat with Draco outside in the school courtyard, laughing so hard it looked like she was about to split a gut. Maybe two guts. Hermione clenched her jaw as she watched. 

She'd never known Draco was so funny. He'd always been so cold and arrogant.

Towards her, anyway.

Except for that short time . . .

He hadn't been cold or arrogant then . . .

Hermione wrenched her thoughts away from that time. It had been a lie, she reminded herself bitterly. A lie.

He'd stopped being openly mean after their fourth year. He'd sort of evolved, she supposed. Or maybe he'd just run out of "Knock-knock, who's there, Mudblood, Mudblood who -" jokes. Either way, he'd stopped being openly mean and started in with cold, Do-you-know-who-you-are stares. If he didn't do that, he ignored her.

Hermione infinitely preferred Do-you-know-who-you-are stares. 

He mostly limited his insults to innuendo now - Hermione wondered if she was pathetic for hoping that it was a slight upgrade from "Hoohoo! Mudblood alert!"

Hermione wondered if she was a complete masochist for liking someone who treated her so badly. Besides, she loved Harry. 

But something in her adored this boy still, this fair-haired, cold-eyed boy. Something in her wished that he - wished that he would just - wished that - 

Wished for something that would never come true, anyway.

She turned her thoughts back to the laughing couple. That was what they were, Hermione realized with a stomach-clenching jerk. The laughing unity, the intimate meeting of the eyes, the slight inclination of her body towards his, the slight inclination of his body over hers.

She had not known this.

She had not wanted to know it.

The couple stood, Draco helping Ginny brush her robes off. Soft, intimate touches, the unconscious smoothing down of her hair for her, the gentle touch of their hands before they clasped.

Hermione turned away from the pretty tableau before her. Half an hour later, Ginny walked into the Gryffindor common room, eyes bright, hiding the mist of dreams, walk softly treading, as if she couldn't bear to walk too fast and distance herself from the dream she had just left.

"How long have you been with Draco?" Hermione asked, purposely making her voice loud, to penetrate the girl's haze of romance. Romance that would not have been so despised if she had not been with Draco. Ginny looked at her and her cloud was dispelled. She gazed with a hard stare at Hermione. It was apparent that she was not going to answer.

"Are you doing this to hurt me?" Hermione asked, struggling to keep her voice from going shrill. "Are you doing this because I once loved - liked him?"

As she spoke, a cold smile crept onto Ginny's soft face. A smile that would never have come into residence a month ago. A smile that - a smile that made Hermione shiver because she knew she had partly caused it.

Ginny finally answered. "We don't think about you at all." Her answer held the sharp ring of truth. Hermione had to believe her.

Ginny held Hermione's gaze for a minute longer and stalked up the stairs, proud and upright.

Ron came into the room just then, a Quidditch magazine tucked under his arm, his statement cheerful. He'd taken the news of Harry and Hermione quite well; it helped that Fleur Delacour had been corresponding with him. Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that it was because she was trying to get to Bill. "Hey, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him, her stomach still rolling from Ginny's words. "Ginny's going out with Draco."

Ron blinked. "Ginny's going out with Draco." Hermione repeated. She clenched her jaw.

Ron blinked again. "Well." He said, nonplussed. "Good thing I got over my whole Draco-thing when he was going out with you, huh?"

"Is that all you can say?" Hermione asked dully.

"Well - you did hurt her dreadfully, Hermione." Ron said gently. He shrugged. "I didn't take sides then, and I'm not taking sides now, but Ginny was in love with Harry. She has been in love with Harry for ages. And you told her at the time that she had no competition in you - you were madly in love with Draco. She trusted you -"

"I _was _in love with Draco!" Hermione cried, hot tears stinging her eyes, and making her swipe at them. "He was _using _me, he just wanted to hurt me because I'm a _Mudblood -_ It _hurt, _Ron! And I went to Harry so he could comfort me; nothing happened until after he had broken up with Ginny -"

"But why didn't you come to _me _for comfort, Hermione? I was just as available as Harry, maybe even more so -" Ron sighed and rubbed his hand over his face wearily. "Look, we've gone through all of this before. That's not the point. Ginny read something into the fact that she found you with Harry and not me - "

Hermione swallowed. None of them had ever told Ron that Ginny had found Harry kissing Hermione. It wasn't something any of them wanted to remember. Hermione still winced with shame when she remembered Ginny's trusting face shocked into pain. Harry never spoke of it to her, but she'd seen the shame, the guilt and overwhelming remorse on his face that day - he'd never wanted to hurt Ginny. After that, Ginny had not spoken a word to any of them - she hadn't even told Ron what had happened. Harry had had to explain to him, words halting and stilted, never looking Ron in the eye as he lied and didn't say that Ginny had found them kissing.

"She's hurt and angry." Ron said quietly. "She hasn't even spoken much to me since then." Ron's eyes betrayed the hurt he felt. "But you aren't with Draco anymore, Hermione. Ginny doesn't owe you anything." He rubbed his face again, looking strangely mature as he looked at her seriously. "I'm going to go upstairs now. I think you need some time by yourself."

Hermione opened her mouth to plead with him, to do anything to remove the _thing _she saw in his face that told her she would never redeem herself in his eyes, but he forestalled her by holding his hand over her mouth briefly, before walking away.

Ron Weasley walked away from Hermione Granger.

Hermione wondered miserably if you could die of shame. 

-

Harry walked slowly down the corridors, trying to shuffle the books in his hands. Carefully he extracted one, and juggled it so it lay on top.

He looked up, and startled, dropped all his books. The sound was flinchingly loud in the silence.

Ginny Weasley, who had been walking along, head down, preoccupied, looked up and their eyes met.

The awkwardness of the moment was unbearable. Harry wanted desperately to tear his eyes away from the empty, unaccusing gaze, but he knew with a sureness that broke his heart that if he did, he would lose something; he didn't know what - Ginny's respect, his own self-respect - he didn't know, but he didn't want to lose whatever it was.

He had already lost so much.

Standing there, eyes on each other, reminded Harry painfully of that day. The day he'd looked up from kissing Hermione to see his girlfriend staring back at him, face contorted with disbelief - the disbelief, Harry knew with wrenching certainty, had hurt him the most. She'd never have believed he was capable of such a thing - hurting someone he loved so badly - never. But she did, then, and her unshakeable trust in him faltered for the first time and fell.

There had been no time for explanations, no time to tell her that he'd been growing more attracted to Hermione and more hotly jealous of Draco, no time to explain that he still loved her and would never have wanted to hurt her, no time to explain the vulnerability of Hermione's wet face turning sweetly up to him. No time before she turned, quite slowly, as if dazed, and left.

The flat gaze broke and left his burning eyes, and Ginny walked away, not saying anything, nothing at all.

And Harry realized he didn't have to worry about losing anything.

Because he'd already lost it. 

-

Draco watched the Gryffindor common room window lazily as he waited for Ginny.

Funny how symbolic that was.

He'd spent a long time waiting for her.

Waiting, just waiting.

A face looked out of the Gryffindor window and disappeared again almost before he 

realized who it was.

Almost.

Hermione Granger.

Draco's face remained perfectly bland at the thought of her. True, they'd gone out for two months, everyone knew that. Everyone also knew what his intentions had been. Make her fall in love, and then dump her. Had worked out quite nicely, too. Even better than expected. Hermione realizes the truth, goes running to Harry, Ginny catches them, is heartbroken, and becomes the love of young Draco's life. It had a certain pleasing irony to it. Draco was appreciative. It wasn't often that one of his nasty deeds brought such good rewards. He must remember to do them more often.

Ginny. Draco remembered all too well what had happened. Ginny herself had not told him a thing; he'd had to resort to asking Pansy to fish for gossip. If Lavender Brown could be trusted - and she was a bloody Gryffindor, it wasn't too hard - the whole story was there. 

Ginny had grown withdrawn after the melodrama. She hadn't talked to anyone about it, simply let it fester inside her until it made her green eyes cloudy and her soft face hard. Disillusionment had caught up with her - Harry fucking Potter wasn't as great as she had always thought. Potter had been the one constant in her life - through the shabby clothes, boiled cauldrons, warty owls - Harry had been there, making her believe he was going to be her knight in shining aluminum foil, on a great, bucking white Hippogriff. Hah!

He'd known the look in her eyes, recognized it, although he didn't know how.

They'd talked. 

They'd kissed.

And finally.

Finally, they'd laughed.

Draco glanced up at the window again. The bushy haired figure that had been watching him disappeared instantly. Draco felt a pang of unfamiliar pity for her.

She should really find someone.

Like he'd found Ginny. 

-

Harry and Hermione were sitting together comfortably, Hermione's cheek nestled in Harry's neck, him breathing softly into her bushy hair. Ginny watched, devoid of any feeling.

But not really.

A dull ache slowly spread against her stomach walls. She watched and it didn't grow worse, or better, which frustrated her.

She loved Draco, she really did. She didn't love Harry anymore - seeing him with Hermione had slit her love and ground it into a pile of bitterness she didn't ever want to revisit.

Not ever.

But watching them together, Harry and Hermione, brought an unrelenting, almost painfully saddening ache to her, making her want to turn away. Turn away and not look back.

It wasn't jealousy, no, it wasn't, although it felt almost like it. It was something worse, something she'd never believed would strike her and make her ache with unshed tears and frustrations. Not from Harry.

It was betrayal.

Betrayal in the worst form, from the boy she'd always believed would look after her and never let anything hurt her, only to turn around and hurt her himself.

Betrayal from a boy she'd loved, a boy she'd believed had loved her too, loved her more than anyone else on earth.

Betrayal.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and willed the tears to come, to wipe away the sickening, withering knot of pain, to wash away the shame that came from being betrayed. 

But tears wouldn't come; they wouldn't absolve her of any guilt.

Ginny stood. She wished.

But wishes don't come true.

She'd learnt that that day.


End file.
